


Girls' Night

by thirstaidkit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/F, Multi, Naboo Royal Handmaidens (Star Wars), Oral Sex, Threesome - F/F/F, Vaginal Fingering, speculation about padme/anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstaidkit/pseuds/thirstaidkit
Summary: Senator Amidala is stressed out - there's an important vote coming to the senate floor and an unsuitable attraction has begun working on her peace of mind. Cordé and Dormé decide to take matters into their own hands and help their mistress blow off some steam.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Her Handmaidens
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Girls' Night

Padmé was wound tighter than a Gungan spring-gun. The job of a senator was stressful, of course. It was natural for her to be a bit tense, this close before such an important vote. No one could say she didn’t take her position seriously. If only that were it. But her ladyship was pacing their lushly appointed rooms like a caged Chlovi-cat; a habit that she only indulged when she was deeply preoccupied or frustrated.

It bothered Cordé, Dormé, and Versé to see her like this. Padmé’s handmaidens saw it as their solemn patriotic duty to aid the queen-turned-senator in any way they could, and besides - they loved her. It was impossible not to. She was smart, and elegant, fearless, and idealistic. She was a force of nature, and even her political enemies recognized it.

So did her allies. With most, whatever attraction they might have felt was tempered by professional respect. For such a beautiful woman, her romantic entanglements had been few. Work was the governance of the entire galaxy, and it had always, always come first. Things were subtly different now, since the Jedi had come back into Padmé’s life.

They were handsome, Cordé thought - both of them. But the elder, the one they called Obi-wan, was no more threatening to her mistresses’ peace of mind than any of the other handsome men in her orbit. He was what Cordé imagined those arcane priests of war ought to be - dashing, powerful, and possessed of a rigid self-control and sense of propriety. 

The younger of the two could make no such claim. Everything about him screamed trouble - the smirk, the swagger, the way he looked at the senator; with a mixture of puppyish adoration and undisguised lust. Padmé had known them before, briefly. She had confided the whole story to Cordé in a tipsy whisper one night, soon after their arrival. A decade earlier, he had been a precocious slave boy; a child on whom Padmé had lavished her pity and affection. Now, Anakin was…. well, if he wasn’t _quite_ a man yet, no one had managed to convince **him** of the fact. And pity and affection were clearly no longer enough to satisfy him.

The attraction was apparent, Cordé thought. He held her hand just a little too long, looked a little too hungrily at her. He made insinuating comments. Cordé wondered that he hadn’t been reprimanded. Had his master really failed to notice that anytime they were in the same room with Padmé, the sexual tension grew thick as Nyork chowder?

Cordé watched her mistress cross the rooms again. Padmé's usually smooth forehead was knitted with concern, the train of her long dressing gown railing across the plush carpet with a soft rustle as she absent-mindedly nibbled on a bit of jogan fruit. She shot a glance at Dormé, who didn’t need to use the force to read her thoughts. She, too, had noticed their mistresses’ unquiet state of mind. 

“Please, my lady. Come sit. You must try to relax, it helps no one for you to be so restless.” Cordé beckoned to her from the long couch. The sun was setting outside the big windows, the endless panorama of the city skyline slowly transforming into a light show the likes of nothing they’d grown up with on Naboo. It too was restless, frenetic. Gorgeous.   
Padmé joined her handmaiden on the couch, as Cordé motioned over her shoulder at Dormé to dim the lights and retrieve a hairbrush from the bedroom. The senator started to speak - to make some excuse, perhaps, for why she was so pent up, but Cordé shushed her, gently pressing her back into a reclining position before kneeling at her feet to massage them.

Dormé returned a moment later, silently joining her counterpart in ministering to the senator, who was already starting to visibly melt as Cordé’s strong fingers worked their magic on Padmé’s dainty feet. Dormé clambered nimbly up onto the back of the sofa, gathering the thick fall of chestnut hair from where it streamed onto her mistresses’ shoulders like a shining brown waterfall. She ran the osmiridium-backed brush through Padmé’s hair slowly; deep, soft strokes drawing the curls back from her queenly brow.

Padmé moaned softly, her dark eyes closing with pleasure. “What would I do without you girls?” She murmured. “You know what I need better than I do.” 

“You needn’t worry about that, milady.” Dormé purred, stroking the senator’s closed eyelids, her long, slender neck. She smoothed away the ghosts of lines from Padmé’s forehead. “We’re here to take care of you. You mustn't worry so; that’s it.” As her ladyship softened like detonite putty under the handmaiden’s gentle touches, Dormé reached forward and deftly undid the jeweled clasp at Padmé’s breast. The sheer garment, surprisingly heavy with elaborate veda pearl beading, slithered off of her pale shoulders and into a silky puddle behind her.

It was miraculous to Cordé that such steely resolve, such strength and determination, could be couched within such softness. Her mistresses’ lithe body was smooth as and delectable as a dollop of Corellian cream. Cordé’s stroking hands moved higher, kneading Padmé’s strong calves, her toned thighs. 

It was fully dark outside now, the ambient light that emanated from the surrounding buildings and the dim glow of speeder headlights whizzing past in the distance the only illumination. Dormé slid further into the couch behind them, massaging Padmé’s shoulders and back. Padmé whimpered quietly, undulating slightly with unconscious pleasure. A hand strayed towards her breast, her stomach, then stopped. The other fisted in the gown, crumpling the dark shimmersilk. Eyes tight shut, the senator bit her lip.

The handmaidens saw this, and exchanged another look. Then in perfect unison, Dormé’s mouth was on her neck, and Cordé’s against her inner thigh. Nibbling kisses, they tasted and teased her while their hands roved. Cordé squeezed and spread the cheeks of her ass. Dormé played with her tits, pinching and rolling Padmé’s nipples until she gasped.

Cordé stroked with deft fingers at the plump outer folds of Padmé’s cunt before parting them to explore that hot, wet little opening. Padmé’s muscles clamped down greedily around her as Cordé slid through the slick flesh to rub at a place deep inside the senator, who groaned and bucked against her hand, as though chasing something. _It isn’t enough,_ thought Cordé. _She needs more._ Cordé wished she knew what her mistress needed. She wanted so to make her feel good again, to make her happy. Happy Padmé was radiant. Disturbed, preoccupied Padmé, well...she was still radiant, just less so. Cordé wondered what she was thinking behind those closed lids. Was she dreaming of _him?_ Was she trying to imagine a very different sort of fuck - one she couldn’t predict, couldn’t control? When the jedi made her come, would it be hard, like a punishment? 

Cordé didn’t know. She only knew softness, devotion. If her ladyship craved hard use, she would have to get it elsewhere. That wasn’t something Cordé had to give. Only sweetness. She lapped at her mistresses’ cunt like a loth-kitten, swirling her tongue in circles around Padmé’s clit while she kept at it with her fingers, playing the senator’s body like a fizzz. By way of a grand finale, Cordé slipped a slippery pinky finger into her tight little ass, and Padmé came; so long that she was sobbing with exhaustion by the end, and so loudly that one of the droids came to see what was wrong and had to be sent away. Cordé was proud of that.

Flushed and glistening, Padmé Amidala sank back into the couch as Dormé shifted out from behind her to allow her to lie down, pulling the stained dressing gown out from beneath the former queen, who mumbled “Thanks, dears. Do you need-- I could--” in a voice that already sounded half asleep. The handmaidens demurred softly, already extricating themselves; pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as they covered her in a soft blanket. Later, she would wake to find them gone, and stumble to the master bedroom to sleep alone. 

Now, they went together into the hall, Dormé watching Cordé thoughtfully. “Are you okay?” She asked her counterpart, linking arms confidentially. Cordé nodded.

“I just have this feeling, like we’re going to lose her.” she said at last.

“All we can do is be here for her as long as she needs us,” answered Dormé sensibly. “Don’t worry, Verse will be back from assignment soon, and whatever happens, the three of us will still have each other.” They shared a kiss that was all the sweeter for tasting like their shared object of devotion, and walked together down the hall to the cantina, to have some fun while her ladyship got some much-needed rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one-shot! I swear, I'm going to update my WIPs soon. 
> 
> P.S. I'm not gonna define all the space-stuff references, but if you're curious about anything, i got it all from wookiepedia.


End file.
